Blazing Glory
by angelwingz21
Summary: "Just because I'm young doesn't mean I'm scared. The world's my playground and I won't let anything, be it terrorists or my very own mutation, stand in the way of enjoying my life" Let's rewind the story and see a brand new Rogue.
1. No Rest For The Wicked

**Disclaimer:** Not mine…

A/N: Very AU in terms of Rogue's personality and pairing, which of course will bring some changes to the X-Men storyline. By the way: _"These"_ are lyrics. More comments at the end so…read on!

Blazing Glory:

Chapter One: No Rest For The Wicked:

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Sunset was fast approaching the state of Mississippi; the perfect time for all the_ ghouls_ to come out.

**O0o-o0O**

_"He who makes a beast out of himself..."_

The distant sound of car engines were quickly drawing closer to a rarely used clearing near the town of Caldecott, the beautiful rolling hills and majestic trees lining the area seemed to slowly start vibrating.

_"...Gets rid of the pain of being a man!"_

With a mighty roar, a giant monster of a truck, with hard rock blasting through the speakers leapt from the other side of the hills. With a loud metallic thud, the truck landed on the clearing, followed quickly by an army of other wild vehicles.

Inside the monster's cabin, were two boys and a girl. They alternated between laughing and shouting, banging their heads against the music as one of the boys drove the truck to the middle of the clearing. As soon as the truck came to a rather violent stop, the girl, who was sitting closest to the passenger's door rolled down the window and clutching, the "Oh-shit! Bar" hauled herself up to the roof.

Leather boots went all the way up to her knees, and a large portion of the porcelain skin from her legs was shown, only stopped by a small denim skirt. A black tank top covered her torso, but didn't hide much of her cleavage. Righting herself with eased practice, she pulled back long, dark locks of hair from her face, showing off the brightest green eyes the world had seen.

"_I'll make a beast out of myself!_" she shouted along with the music, raising her arms into the sky and tilting her head back, feeling the sun's dying warmth on her face as the people from the other cars shouted their agreements at the top of their voices.

"Yeah!" she shouted after them, quickly jumping from the roof to the back, grabbing box after box of beer and throwing it into the awaiting hands of her friends.

Marie D'Ancanto was in no small way a good girl, and she loved it. At 15 years old, she rolled with the real bad boys in Caldecott, fitting in easily.

With music still blasting from the speakers, a bonfire was started before the sun disappeared completely. Food and drink appeared, and the real fun began. Some danced to the music; others retreated in pairs to the dark parts of the clearing. There was a corner where a couple of guys were taking turns to see who could shoot a target better, no one asking each other where exactly they got the firearms. And then there was the area that had been immediately set up, and attracted the most attention.

No uniforms, no helmets, no gloves, just pure balls and a near death wish was what was going on in the hastily prepared motor cross race track. The motorcycles revved their engines, easily competing with the music for dominance.

The moment Marie touched one of the bikes, bets immediately began going around. Another improvised race started, bringing attention from nearly everyone in the party. Marie pulled all the stunts, went through all the danger, easily beating everyone by a long shot. With a wild smile on her face, she reached the finish line, letting go of the handle bars to pump her fists in delight, before stopping with a slight swerve in front of the spectators, who quickly jumped away before they got a face full of mud.

A tall blonde boy, the same one who drove the monster truck, was next to her immediately, whooping and grabbing her by the waist and twirling her before letting her down. He kept her close even though she was half drenched in sweat and covered in dirt.

"That's my sexy Rogue," he whispered to her as she wrapped her arms around his waist, and he lowered his hands to her ass, giving a squeeze.

"Cody!" Marie squealed in mock offense, quickly giving in to laughter and pressing herself against her 17-year-old boyfriend, kissing him on the lips before pushing him back and making him stumble. She turned for a moment to collect her winnings from the audience, then turned back to grab his hand to lead him back towards the music. Passing by the makeshift shooting range, they stole someone's whiskey bottle before continuing on their way.

The rest of the night passed in a blur. There was dancing, and laughing, drinking and smoking. At some point Marie and Cody took turns in the shooting range, exploding the empty liquor bottles one after the other. Marie remembers laying on the ground and fighting with Cody because her real name was Rogue, only to smack his shoulder when he called her that, saying that her really real name was Marie, and as her boyfriend he should know better.

A fist fight broke out between some boy and Tyler—Cody's best friend and the other boy in the monster truck—signaling it was time to end the partying at four in the morning. After dropping off who Marie called "The Stupid Ass Tyler" at his home, the couple ended up in her house.

Marie had been orphaned at ten, leaving her with the only option of moving in with her Caldecott uncle who cared too much about his job to properly take care of her. At the moment, said uncle was out on a business trip, leaving the entire house to her.

They stumbled into the foyer, kissing each other with fervency, as if they hadn't touched all day. It took them longer than usual to go up the stairs, where the pair's actions varied from kissing and laughing, tripping, and taking off each other's clothes. They somehow reached the bathroom, falling into the tub and yelling out when the shower got accidentally turned on, spitting out freezing water.

Cody blindly turned the water hot as he kissed Marie, grinding his hips against hers as she linked her arms around his neck and pulled him closer.

**O0o-o0O**

Dawn was starting to peek out from between the trees in front of the house when it happened.

The neighbor's rooster began its horrible squawking; making the couple that had one way or another made it to a bed, jump up absolutely startled.

With a groan of pain, Cody scrunched his eyes away from the sunlight, digging further into his pillow. He felt Marie shift next to him, sliding one of her heavenly legs between his, making the blonde boy smile in spite of the massive headache he had. She moved closer to him, her naked breasts making contact with his back, her warmth a very welcomed feeling. For a few seconds, the moment was just perfect...

...Then the entire street heard Marie's hysterical screaming.

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* * *

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A/N: Alright!

The whole Cody calling Marie, "Rogue" will be explained next chapter.

The song being played out of Cody's monster truck was Bat Country from Avenged Sevenfold. The background music for when Rogue is racing on the bike is Black Betty from Spiderbait (I like to think it matches her at the moment :) ). If you want to see Rogue's boots please go to my profile.

And tell me if you liked it or not (By reviewing of course)!!!


	2. Here's To Freedom

**DISCLAIMER: **Not mine…

**A/N: **_These _are musings. **_These _**are Cody's memories. _"These" _are music lyrics. More comments at the end. :) ****

BLAZING GLORY:

CHAPTER TWO: HERE'S TO FREEDOM:

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_For a few seconds, the moment was just perfect…_

…_Then the entire street heard Marie's hysterical screaming._

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Three weeks later:

_**The first time Cody set eyes on Marie, he thought she was a joke. She looked like the most innocent thing in the world pretending to be bad ass. He'd told her such a goody-goody didn't belong with his group. But then she punched him in the face, told him to stop being an asshole and asked **_**his **_**friends if they wanted to go hang out down by the creek.**_

Marie woke up from her sleep with a loud gasp. Her hair was everywhere, sticking to her sweaty skin. She took deep breaths as she pulled her hair back, untangled herself from the bed sheets and struggled to fix her tank top back in place.

_It happened again._

She looked around the room, aided by the soft light coming from the night stand lamp. Seeing nothing different she moved to stand up from her bed, but as soon as she got on her feet, the world tilted and she landed back on the mattress. Only then did she notice that she was shaking.

_For three weeks straight, at the most random moments, she'd been having these strange…episodes. Episodes where she viewed __herself as Cody._

She made another move to stand up, this time successful, and slowly made her way on bare feet to the door of her room. The floor was freezing, effectively jolting her completely awake. 'That's right,' she mused, 'summer had gone long ago. It was autumn now.'

_They always felt so real. Too real._

Marie opened the door and made her way silently down the hall. Her uncle had been called back from his business trip. He was mad at her, of course, for interrupting his oh so important work. He was also furious at her for becoming a mutant, and not doing so in a silent manner. It was bad enough that she was a rebel with no morals, and now she was a freak. What would his boss think? Muffling a snort, she crept down the stairs, skipping the creaking step.

_She still didn't fully understand what had happened. One moment they'd been cuddling, and then Marie began to feel something very powerful going into her. All of a sudden she wasn't just Rogue._

Dear Uncle was in the living room working on something in his laptop. He was sitting on the couch, with his back turned to her, so she quickly crossed the floor to the kitchen.

_S__he was also Cody._

Taking an empty glass, she filled with water from the sink, sipping at it, as her mind began to wander.

_Now he was in a coma, battling for life. All because she had touched him._

She froze all of a sudden, and didn't feel the glass of water slip through her fingers. She didn't even hear it crash into a hundred pieces on the floor.

_**His girlfriend**__** was amazing. Fourteen-year-old Marie hated the simple, quiet life, preferring to go out and discover and get lost in the middle of nowhere just so that she could fight for a way back. They skipped school regularly; because she wanted to see the couple of towns around Caldecott. Then they started travelling out of the county, then out of the state. Cody was never going to forget the time when they went all the way to California on a whim from her. After all, it was then that he realized he was in love. When they returned, he started calling her his 'sexy Rogue.' The first time she heard it, she had only blinked, then smiled and told him to brace himself, 'cause she wanted to know what all the New York hoopla was about.**_

A sharp sting spread over her left shoulder, bringing Marie back to reality. She looked behind her and found her uncle, face red as a tomato and neck vein popping, glaring at her with undisguised irritation.

"The hell's wrong with you?!" he bellowed at her. "Look at the mess you made!" he pointed at the floor, where the glittering shards were spread. She looked down, and noticed that in his shaking fist was the kitchen rag, half of it hanging, the other half crushed in the man's hand. Realization struck, making Rogue's eyes narrow. He'd hit her. With a rag, but he'd hit her, nonetheless. Slowly, she raised her head again, making sure to meet her uncle's beady eyes with her own. Wild emotions ran through her, beginning with annoyance and ending with pure, unadulterated rage.

Just like that, she became a predator and he the prey. Uncle's posture shifted suddenly from furious to guarded, his red face paling rapidly. His lips trembled, and recognition passed through his eyes, a recognition that made Marie freeze for a moment. Then, unexpectedly she took one step forward, narrowly missing getting cut by the shards on the floor. The man jumped and scuttled back, until he reached the wall, pressing his back completely against it.

Seconds passed between them, the only sound breaking the silence was her uncle's heavy breathing. It was then that Rogue made a decision. Anger under control, Marie looked at the pathetic man with disgust. "Fuck you," she declared with an even voice, and turned around to start walking back to her room.

In three weeks, what little happiness she had managed to gather for herself had quickly been destroyed. Her boyfriend could die at any moment. Her friends were too scared of being close to her, some hating her for being a "mutie." She was untouchable; her skin a poisonous expanse ready to suck the life out everything it made contact. Even when she touched inorganic objects, she could feel something inside of her searching, searching for anything with living energy on it. Her mind was a mess, and she had to fight from falling apart out in the public. Nobody worried, nobody wondered how she was dealing with it all.

Marie took the steps two at a time, reaching the top in record time and stomping her way to her room. As soon as she reached it, she closed the door with a resounding bang, and locked it for good measure. She began moving around her room, pacing back and forth, trying to bring order to her thoughts.

Nobody cared for her there. Ever since she arrived, she could feel how she didn't really belong. But she was just so stubborn; forcing herself to carve a place she could call her own in the tiny town. It really was futile, like trying to make two mismatched jigsaw pieces fit together. Try hard enough and the pieces are bound to get torn up. That was what happened here. She tried to delay it, travelling to places outside the town for days, keeping away from the town's normal structured life. In the end it all just blew up in her face.

She stopped pacing all of a sudden, her gaze landing on her leather boots, her guardian angels. Liquid warmth began spilling down her cheeks, as she realized that she's never fit in anywhere, and now she was poison. How pathetic she was.

As soon as that thought crossed her mind, a scream, coming deep from within her soul, made its way out. It was full of anger, and pain, and that horrible sadness she had been trying to push back since the last three weeks, since the last five years, for about as long as she could remember.

At the end, her voice cracked, and she must have blacked out for a while because the next thing she knew she was kneeling, pain blossoming from her kneecaps, back resting against the foot of her bed. All her strength was suddenly gone.

_**Marie was a nice gal**__** at just fifteen and crazy in all the right ways. But Helen was in college. And was blonde. And smiled and laughed at everything he said. And asked if her girlfriends could join them in bed.**_

It was like someone had stabbed her in the chest, and thrown her into a freezing lake for her to die. Her entire body began to shake, her head moving left to right as if denying what she had just seen. But she did…and she knew it was true. It was another sound she made then; a growl like a furious caged monster. She stood up suddenly, walking before she knew it into her bathroom, turning on the harsh bright lights. A pair of ruthless green eyes stared at Rogue from within the mirror. She averted the gaze and took a look at the rest of herself. She didn't know what she was looking for, not until she met her own glare again.

She had changed. Not because of her mutation, no. She had changed long before someone gave name to the new her. Marie had died a long time ago, way back when she had lost her innocence. She had been uprooted, become dishonest, a cheat, savage, unpredictable, disobedient, until she had finally stopped belonging amongst society altogether. She had become the embodiment of a rogue. She _was_ Rogue.

What the hell was she still doing in Caldecott?

Blindly, she reached for the ceramic toothbrush holder on the sink and clutched it tightly until her knuckles turned white. Then, as if she had been stretched too far and let go, she snapped, arm rising and falling quickly, throwing the object against the mirror in the process with all her strength.

Not waiting to see the results, Rogue turned back into the room, and with a barreling force crashed into the bed, sending it rolling on its wheels to the other side of the room stopping only with the wall. With its hiding place revealed, Rogue took the large duffel bag and dropped it on the disturbed bed. She opened the bag and rammed her hand in, searching until she felt leather and pulled the article out. It was a blade.

Quickly pulling the tan leather sheath, she checked to make sure the blade was alright. The metal shined even with the poor lighting. At 13.6 inches long, an edge sharp enough to split hairs, and a teethed back, the hunting knife was anything but a joke. Whenever she travelled to places unknown to her she always took it for protection. Sometimes it was even a practical object to have. She sheathed the knife back and threw it into the bag, before going over to her drawers and doing the same with her clothes and other helpful objects.

It took her less than half an hour to pack everything she wanted and needed. She closed the bag without a second thought, its zipper making the only sound in the entire room. When she was done, she took a step back and a deep breath before taking off her shirt and pants. She stood naked for half a second, before the coldness seeping through the walls moved her into action again. As she reached for the clothes she'd laid out on the bed, she heard Dear Uncle's footsteps coming up the stairs. She changed directions instantly and went for the dressing table next to the door on her room. With a hard push she shoved the wooden furniture in front of the door, and then returned to her clothes.

Warm underwear, knee-high socks, long-sleeved undershirt.

Uncle's steps were going down the hall now.

Thick skinny jeans, black plain sweater, tie the hair back in a ponytail.

And she could hear the man stopping on her door.

She pulled on her long green coat as her legal guardian called for her.

There was banging on the door as safe heavenly boots finally hugged her calves over the jeans.

The door knob clicked opened as she finished putting on her gloves. She almost forgot her scarf.

Dear Uncle was trying to push the door open, and found himself struggling with the weight of the dressing table. Rogue crossed the room with the bag in hand, and went to work on the window. Damn thing was always getting stuck.

But as Mr. Workaholic finally made enough space to squeeze into the room, it was too late. His eyes found her immediately, and she stared back at him for a full second before throwing herself off the opened window. The man froze on the spot, and started back to life at the sound of thud. He rushed to the window, searching wildly for a broken body only to see his niece running full speed down the street.

* * *

There was a long-developed hitch on her side from running for so long. She was already nearly on the other side of town though, and that was the important thing. Stopping for a moment to catch her breath, she rested her hands on her knees, flashlight pointing at a random angle.

As soon as she got out of the house she headed for the cover of trees; even in the dark she knew her way around the small forest. The cold was getting to her though, even with the layers. Breath regained, she stood upright again, and pointed the flashlight forwards. A small smile appeared on her face as the light hit asphalt only a couple of yards away, and she turned off her flashlight. She reached her destination quickly, and looked ahead to the other side of the road, where Al's Diner was still open at one in the morning.

As fast as possible, she crossed the deserted road in a crouching pose, hiding herself from the diner behind the trunk of a parked SUV. She looked around the corner at the building, large windows showing sleepy couples and truck drivers making their way through the food. No one was paying attention to the outside. Good.

Crouching even lower, she moved from her hiding spot, trying to reach a car she spotted at the end of the parking lot, where there were no diner windows in front of it. She stopped briefly behind every car and truck, trying to not be seen as much as possible. When she reached her destination, Rogue looked back at the diner and found that no one could see her from the angle she was in. Perfect. She looked back to see her prize: it was an old blue Honda. Hopefully it wouldn't make a ruckus starting up.

Creeping over to the driver's side she hoped against hope as she pulled on the handle…smiling triumphantly as it gave and the door opened. Not wasting any more time she threw her duffle bag on the passenger's seat, and positioned herself under the car wheel. She turned the flashlight back on and placed it in her mouth so it could shine upwards. Her left hand cracked opened the panel as her right hand reached down into her right boot and pulled on the green handle of her butterfly knife. She opened it quickly, and set herself to work on the wires until the Honda's engine started with a low purr.

No one inside the diner heard or saw the small blue car pull out of the parking lot, and no one was going to discover it missing for another half hour.

Rogue turned on the headlights only when Al's was completely out of view. The road ahead was long and lined with trees, little shining eyes belonging to deer glinting between the trees whenever the light hit them. Rogue didn't pay any attention to them. The car was freezing inside, even with the heat turned all the way up. Balancing the wheel on her knees, she reached into her left boot, and pulled out a battered pack of cigarettes. Opening it, she pulled out a cigarette and a cheap green lighter that she'd hidden there. She placed the cigarette between her lips, and clicked the lighter open. The little flame lighted the inside of the car for a second before she clicked it closed. The smoke was a welcomed warmth in the middle of the night, and she let it linger inside of her before releasing it.

Deciding there had been too much silence for the past couple of hours, she turned the car radio on and selected a station. A sardonic smile crossed her lips at the song they were playing, before humming along with it.

For a moment she wondered what exactly was going to happen to her, but then she just shrugged off the worry. It was too late now, it was time to live for the moment and stop thinking about tomorrow. She realized this was a rather self-destructive way of living, but really, what other life-style fitted her? It was better than crying in a corner anyways.

"_You'll never see me fall from grace,"_ she sang softly along to the song.

* * *

It had been her sixteenth birthday a couple of months back. She'd been in Oregon then. Now she was working under the table as a waitress in a little restaurant in Bellingham, Washington. A decision she was quickly starting to regret. Alex, the son of the restaurant's owner, looked like he had fallen a little too much in love with her, or what he believed was her. She said she was a nineteen-year-old French girl named Adelie Aiton. It helped that she had a pretty face that could look innocent enough when she willed it. Sometimes, she had way too much making up aliases.

Smothering a grimace, she served plates full of food to the only clients left in the restaurant at 10pm; a couple and their little toddler son.

It wasn't easy hiding her mutation, but as long as she stayed on the northern states she could pull off wearing layers of clothes with long sleeves and still walk amongst society, like she was some undercover agent in a foreign country. Using gloves inside were harder, so she just made an extra effort to be anti-social, so that no one tried to make contact. She had an alright relationship with her boss, after all if she wanted to keep her job then she had to show him some kind of respect. But it was his son that wasn't taking the hint.

"Adelie! How are you today?" the 21-year-old boy greeted her as soon as she went to the back of the kitchen and inside the boss's empty office. He was visiting for the weekend from college again. He wasn't so ugly, really. Eyes a dark grey, and hair a dark brown, he could be called handsome. He was definitely fit enough, and tall enough. If she wasn't poisonous she would have mused taking a tumble with him. But no, a murder was not what she needed at the moment.

"Fine, thank you," she answered curtly, making sure to pronounce the "thank" with a slight lisp. She walked past him, ignoring the fact that he seemed to watch her every move, and headed straight to the bathroom.

It was a small fit, and for a moment Rogue wondered how in the world the rotund boss managed to squeeze in, but then she quickly dismissed the thought as she remembered she was about to use his toilet. She preferred to use this bathroom over the one made for the customers, she liked the privacy it offered. As she did her business, her mind wandered for a moment.

Fall gave into winter, and winter was just vanishing into spring now. That was how long she had been gone. There'd been bad moments, as well as interesting ones, but she could honestly say that leaving Mississippi was the best decision she had ever made. She'd even changed again, if only slightly, by becoming calmer and more level-headed. But only a little bit. After all, she had a lifestyle to upkeep.

After she finished, she began to wash her hands on the sink, when she caught sight of herself on the mirror. The image before her was interesting, as if she was seeing herself clearly after a long time. Something that was partially true.

There was no anger marring her face, and her eyes looked softer, as if all the rage had vanished. But that wasn't right, because she could still feel the ire and disappointment, and the pain bubbling up inside of her. Maybe she had resigned herself? Well, whatever it was, she couldn't really dwell upon it at the moment. Her shift had just ended, and she could finally put to good use the salary her boss gave her earlier today. Yeah, tonight seemed like a good night to go on and skip town.

When Rogue opened the bathroom only to be forced back into it, her idea became even more concrete. The door slammed closed, leaving her and her attacker in total darkness as he pushed her back against the wall, the tiny room giving no space between them.

Rogue didn't think twice. She reached with bare hands towards the man, and made contact with an upper arm and his face, grabbing at the flesh with a vice grip. Memories flooded her mind instantly.

"Oh God," she whispered as she realized who she was holding, what he wanted to do with her, and how wonderful life energy felt shooting up into her veins.

As silently as she could, she heaved an unconscious Alex to sit on the toilet, where he promptly slumped over and hit the side of his head against the tiled wall with a soft meaty thud. For a moment, she leaned against the sink, trying to catch her breath and organize her thoughts; all of a sudden feeling as if she'd just shrunk almost an entire foot, and suffering vertigo because of it. Her breasts also felt a bit funny to her, until she managed to completely push Alex's psyche all the way to the back of her head.

"Shit!" she cursed in a low whisper then, as she realized she had just absorbed the boss's son, inside his office bathroom. "I've got to get out of here," she mumbled as she noticed how tremors ran through Alex's body. Without any further ado, she pulled on the bathroom door, only to find it wouldn't open well enough because Alex's legs got in the way. "Dammit!" Rogue climbed onto the boy's lap, the heel of her boot crushing certain parts of his anatomy she knew he was going to miss. He deserved it. The small space she had managed to open was big enough to slip through with only a bit of trouble. Once she did so, she closed the door shut softly, and fixed all her clothes and hair back in place. As she regained a normal breathing pattern, Rogue began to plan.

She'd seen a very pretty postcard of this place in Alaska, and she could easily imagine herself living there for a while.

Her pace was brisk as she made her way over to the lockers, taking off her apron as she did so. The lock to hers opened easily with a hard yank, and she pulled the door open, making a metal clang as it hit the door next to it. There was only a thick black scarf and a long green coat hanging inside, one pocket holding thick knit gloves, another an envelope with the week's salary. All of today's tips where hidden inside her bra. She pulled on the gloves and the coat, and then she wrapped the scarf around her neck.

After she finished, she made a beeline to the exit on the back of the restaurant, cutting through the kitchen where only Marty, the night chef and Betty, another waitress, were left. Marty was busy cooking up something or other to feed himself, and Betty was just finishing up washing most of the dishes. Both had been making enough sounds to cover up the bathroom incident. It was better to hasten her pace though; she wanted to be pretty far ahead when one of them discovered Alex's comatose form…if they found him tonight, and not the boss tomorrow morning.

"'Night, Adelie!" Betty called out, one sudsy hand rising and waving.

"Adieu, Betty…" Rogue mumbled out, already out the door before she finished the last syllable.

* * *

Even though Rogue had been staying on a motel, all of her things were on the back seat of her latest car, neatly packed into the same duffel bag. It was easier this way if she had to run, as she was doing now. What she wasn't counting on, though, was how low the gas tank was. Within three hours of driving north the old black car just sputtered to a stop on the side of the road.

For a while, Rogue just stared at the car wheel in disbelief. Then, "Aaaargghhh!"

This could not be happening, she was in the middle of freezing-nowhere, the only light being provided by her car. Not happening.

"Mother f*cking, piece of sh*t! Argh!" With each syllable, Rogue punched the center of the wheel, each hit giving out a small blast of the horn. She kept going on like this, cursing, and hitting not only the wheel, but also different aspects of the car, until she got tired. Then she just sat there, staring forward out to the endless road as she tried to catch her breath. A lock of hair had fallen away from the braid she had pulled it into earlier, and she blew it away subconsciously as she decided what to do _now. _

Beyond ticked off did not begin to describe the state Rogue was currently in, and yet she was thinking straight enough to know she had to keep moving, in case the police got called. She had to go out there. Into the darkness. Into the cold.

Letting out a groan of frustration, she reached into her bag to fish out the flash light, and make sure she had spare batteries just in case. Next she pulled out her hunting blade, tying the sheath securely around one of her jeans' belt loops. She didn't trust the darkness as far as she could see into it. Once done, she closed the bag, opened the car door, and hefted the duffel over her shoulder. If her math was right, the next town was ten miles from here. Her wrist watch said it was currently 1:15 am. Rogue was not amused. But she wasn't about to start complaining in the middle of nowhere…again…so she just began moving toward her intended destination, thankful for having decided to wear her trusty leather boots—the lovely guardian angels—tonight.

One hour in, she had decided the blade on her hip wasn't enough, and took out her butterfly from her boot to hold in her hand. Just in case. Her car lights had long since faded in the distance, and she was now using her flashlight. Even though spring was around the corner, it still was horrible cold this far north. The trees were still frozen over, and was that? Yes, a flurry had just begun. Tightening the scar around her, and pulling the coat's hood over her head, she continued to stubbornly trudge on.

Five minutes later headlights brightened up everything in front of her just before she heard the growling of a truck engine behind. The top of her body turned back to look even as she continued walking forwards. With a tightening of her knife, she watched the progress of the truck up the road, until the 18-wheeler stopped next to her. Only then did she stop walking.

The passenger door opened, and she could see from her place an old fat man struggling to sit properly back in the driver's seat. After a couple of seconds, the truck driver took a look at her, concerned pale blue eyes meeting aggravated striking green ones.

"It's really dangerous to be walking out here in the middle of the night, you know? Where you headed, girlie?" A deep voice, peppered with a California accent boomed out of the old man, making Rogue lower her guard, just a little. Truck drivers usually traveled far. Maybe the next town didn't have to be her destination now.

"Where are _you_ headed, Mister?" she decided to lay on the southern accent real thick, it almost always let her get away with anything.

"Well," the man began as he scratched in thought, staring at the reflection of the rearview mirror for a while before looking back to her, "I can take you as far a Laughlin City."

Rogue had no idea where that was, but it wasn't in Washington, and the man was heading north, so that must mean Canada. For the first time in days, the corners of the sixteen-year-old's mouth pulled upwards into a smile. Conspicuously, she hid the butterfly back into a coat pocket and turning off the forgotten flashlight.

"Deal," she answered, before hauling herself up into the passenger's seat.

* * *

A/N: The thing about the practicality of Rogue with hunting knives…well, I'll be using it next chapter so just wait and see.

The song playing on the car radio is Freak on a Leash by Korn, thank you very much.

Kudos to Elizabeth, for drinking rum in the name of freedom, while marooned on an island with the legendary Captain Jack Sparrow.

Oh! And for last chapter! Kudos to Lara Croft, for admitting there's no rest for the wicked with a smile on her face.


	3. Not The Worst Thing

A/N: I gave birth to this chapter.

**DISCLAIMER: **Not mine…

BLAZING GLORY:

CHAPTER THREE: NOT THE WORST THING:

_Conspicuously, she hid the butterfly back into a coat pocket and turned off the forgotten flashlight._

"_Deal," she answered, before hauling herself up into the passenger's seat. _

* * *

Laughlin City was a dump. There was no other word for it. The entire town could be summed up in the four corners of the crossroads she found herself standing on.

One had Lyle Blue's Gas Station; the tacky name made Rogue roll her eyes. The second corner had Malachi's Grocery and Drug Store, est. 1958; she grimaced on that one. The third corner had the Laughlin City Police Department; now she felt a bit green. And lo and behold, on the fourth corner, a sad-looking lodge proclaimed to be Sammy's Bar. Her eye twitched.

It took her over fourteen hours of slow truck driving in the snow to get there, and it was going to take a grand total of sixty minutes to run the hell out. The only reason it would take so long was because she was going to drink herself a healthy dose of whiskey from Sammy's Bar beforehand.

She trudged silently over to the wooden lodge, careful to not step on any ice or snow that might make her slip. Her boots had good traction, but frozen water had always been a bitch. She shifted her bag and let out a yawn. She was dead tired.

The entrance was made up of a heavy wooden door that Rogue had to throw her weight into, in order to get it to swing open. She quickly moved inside, letting the door swing closed by itself, and pulled down her hood. The place wasn't very well lit, or full for that matter.

'Still too early,' Rogue thought as she casually made her way to take a seat on the sorry-looking bar.

Once seated, she let her bag fall to the floor with a thud loud enough to attract the bartender who had been watching some old hockey game in an ancient TV box. The old, worn man looked at her sideways for a moment, trying to get some kind of read on her. She ignored him while she fumbled with her left boot, producing a beat up cigarette box. Rogue grimaced when she noticed there was only one stick left, the annoyance building higher as she had to coax a tiny flame from her dying lighter.

"Get'cha anything, little girl?" the old man had moved in front of her as she was lighting her cigarette. Very perceptive, that bartender was, looking at her with suspicion.

She looked up slowly as she took a drag. A breathy laugh came from her throat, expelling swirls of smoke around the cigarette hanging from her lips as she fumbled for something in her coat pocket.

"Thanks," she mumbled, furrowing her eyebrows and looking amused at the same time; trying to push away the teenage appearance from her face. Rogue slapped the counter with the contents from her pocket and quickly transferred the smoke to her gloved hand. "Shot o'whiskey." The words came out in a rush of smoke from the mouth and nostrils.

The bartender looked at the American note on the counter and then at her face, trying to decide whether or not to take the order. They held a staring contest for a few seconds before the old man relented and took the money.

Rogue downed the drink just a beat after he placed it in front of her.

The first time she had ever tasted whiskey was back when she was eleven years old. She'd hated it, puked it everywhere. But the Caldecott ghouls were drinking it like it were water, and at the time little Marie had felt like there was something she had to prove. So out of sheer stubbornness she kept swallowing it, until the whiskey stopped registering as something awful in her brain. Now, the sight of it reminded her of that pleasant burn in the back of her throat, that delicious numbness after one too many shots.

A second glass had somehow found its way to her hand a couple of minutes later, and she downed it just like the first one. Numbness, indeed…

Cody had been the hard drinker of the pack, though. More often than not he found himself in the most ridiculous situations because of his drunkenness. Half of the time she spent with him, he'd been intoxicated. What about that had attracted her?

It was getting dark in the tiny town, and she had yet to even remove her scarf. In any other given situation, this would have the barman looking at her sideways. But really, the inside of this place was only a few degrees warmer than outside, so there was no reason for anyone to give her wrapped-up self a second glance. More patrons began walking through the heavy doors. She looked at them curiously, head resting on her right hand, the bulk of her coat hiding nearly half her face. After a couple of minutes, Marie began to get bored of people watching, and just as she was to turn away from the door, _he_ entered.

There was something different about that man, and it wasn't the strange hairstyle. He wasn't the tallest male in the world, but obviously bigger than her. He was handsome, in a rugged sort of way. She could notice even through the thickness of his warm clothes that he was lean. The way he moved towards the bar gave her the impression of some kind of animal, and the thought of it somehow made Rogue feel like prey.

"So, what's a girl like you doin' in a town like this?" the old bartender's voice made her jump slightly, and she turned to find the man staring at her with curious eyes.

'Curiosity's deadly, grampa,' she thought at him while she took one last drag of her cigarette, and threw the butt into her empty shot glass. Rogue managed a smile she didn't feel, "Because I can." Her tone was sarcastic, and she noticed just how young she made herself to be by taking on attitude. She amended it by looking at the bartender's eyes and answering him again, seriously, this time. "Just a pit stop, sir. Got my eyes set on Alaska." Sometimes, a little truth didn't hurt.

He looked at her curiously for a few moments, before shaking his head and moving over to the wilderness-man who had caught her eye. The man ordered a beer, some Canadian brand she didn't recognize, and managed to drink half of it in one go.

"Heard you got a cage." The man's voice was rough, a growl more than anything. He stared at the bartender, and Rogue could see how the old man was unsettled by the younger one.

"I do," the bartender answered guardedly.

Rogue's eyebrows rows slightly. A cage? What was so interesting about that? Maybe it had something to do with hunting.

"How much to get in?" he growled again.

Just like he had done her, the bartender stared at the bearded man for a good few seconds before telling him the rate was going at fifty, non-refundable. Who would pay fifty dollars to get into a cage? Nonetheless, the growling man produced the spoken amount, and the bartender took it with none of the hesitation he had presented before.

"It starts in two hours, so be ready by then," the bartender told him. The old man's voice managed to make it sound like a warning, rather than a statement. The newcomer smiled slightly, before drinking the rest of his beer and ordering another one.

What time was it? The world around her seemed to have paused and yet speed up. A yawn broke its way through, and Marie felt her jaw crack as her eyes watered. She shook her head from side to side and rubbed roughly at her eyes.

Falling asleep in this half-frozen town in the middle of Nowhere, Canada was not an option.

The sound of a thud in front of her made her jump, and belatedly Marie realized she had fallen asleep, despite her internal declaration just seconds ago. When was the last time she had slept? There were some vague memories of staring up at the water-spots on the ceiling of that motel back in Bellingham.

Her heavy eyes landed on the small glass on the counter that hadn't been there before. Almost lethargically, the sixteen-year-old raised her head to look at the barman. There was concern in his eyes.

'Fuck you,' she thought with absolutely no bravado whatsoever. She chose to raise one single eyebrow in question.

"Got forty dollars, girlie?" he asked as he pulled a whiskey bottle from under the bar.

Her other eyebrow joined the first one in surprise, and then suspicion rose and her eyes narrowed. She watched as he filled the shot glass with what would be the third drink of her night. "And what do a barman want with a girl's forty dollars?"

"Got a couple rooms I rent out to people. You know, like a motel place? No offence girlie but you look half-past dead." The whiskey bottle disappeared to its place under the counter again, the bartender's suddenly fatherly eyes never leaving hers.

A grimace marred her face. She didn't want to stay any longer in the town. But, _when was the last time she had slept?_ What was out there, farther out than Laughlin City, anyways? She would need her wits about her, to survive a drive in those frozen roads. She would need food and water, too. Not to mention that she needed to find a car to drive, in the first place. There was no way she was going to be ready in the next fifteen minutes.

Rogue circled the rim of her shot glass with her middle finger. Her musings were a harsh reminder of the situation she had made herself to be in. She stopped stroking the glass and held it up to her lips. She was too young for this.

After downing her last drink of the night, Rogue reached for her bag to search for two twenty-dollar bills; she only kept ones, fives, and tens in her pockets. Once she found them, Marie placed them on the counter, weighted them down by the now empty shot glass, and slid it all towards the old man.

"Where's the keys?"

* * *

The bartender—who Rogue had learned was Sammy, the owner—led her towards the other side of the building. The walk helped her understand the earlier conversation between the old man and the wild one as they crossed by an empty fighting cage surrounded with benches.

She'd never seen a real-life cage fight before. Sammy had said the action was going to start in two hours. 'Maybe I can check it out,' she mused as another jaw-cracking yawn escaped from her.

The rooms where in a hall way in the back, the entrance semi-hidden by the tackiest stuffed animal she had ever seen. The bear was so skinny it looked anorexic, as it stood up, paws stretched and making it look more like a sad teddy asking for a hug than anything menacing. Its jaw was hanging open, showing to the world its missing canines.

Sammy barely glanced at it as they entered the hall, so Rogue decided not to make any comments. The doors to the rooms were painted the same color as the walls, a dark brown nearly black, making it nearly impossible to distinguish when one began and the other ended in the horrible light. Only the stained brass numbers hanging from the doors shone bright enough to be really seen.

She hadn't taken off the hunting knife from her belt yet. As they walked further and further into the dark hall, Rogue's hand drifted to the blade, fingers resting lightly on the handle. It wasn't until they reached door number 14, and the bartender handed her the keys with a small smile, promptly leaving her alone afterwards, that she let go. Marie watched the old man slightly hobble his way back out the hall, until the sound of his footsteps faded completely away. Only after looking into every visible nook and cranny to make sure that she was, indeed, alone, did Rogue look down at the keys in her hand.

They were an identical brass-colored pair, looped together by a small piece of bent metal wire. The wire also held a little piece of bright red plastic with the number "14" scratched on the broad side. Those were the sorriest looking pair of keys she'd ever laid eyes on. It matched the bar, the owner, the cage, and that ugly ass stuffed bear over by the entrance.

The lock to the room opened easily, but the door swung inwards as noisily and slowly as possible, making Rogue wince. She stood there for a couple of seconds, trying to see into the room, but it was so dark, it was impossible. Slowly, she set her duffel bag on the floor. She took one tentative step into the pitch black room and began to move sideways, free arm swiping the wall carefully for a light switch. It was only three feet away from the door, and once Rogue turned it on, she took a good look.

The room was as bare as could be imagined, with only an old full bed, and a small bedside table resting against the middle of the left wall. The corners of the room though were decorated by spider webs, and the floor had a layer of dust on it. A faint odor that only the dampness could bring about permeated the air.

Rogue closed and locked the door to the room and walked over to another entrance, this one without a door, and flipped the switch next to it. The lights turned on inside, revealing a small bathroom. The sink was being held precariously in its place by four shaky metal poles, its faucet nearly rusted over entirely. A mirror hanging over the sink was stained with big yellowish blotches. The toilet looked clean enough; that is to say, actually flushed and no visual evidence of pee anywhere. Its lid was cracked in two, though. But the toilet/sink combo was not really what drew Rogue's eyes. It was the shower.

There was no curtain, and some of the bone-white tiles were missing. Upon closer inspection, Marie noticed there was hardly any mildew growing on the surfaces. The prospect of actually taking a shower began to appeal to her brain.

She checked her wrist watch: 8:34. She figured she could shower and take an hour nap, catch some of that cage-fighting, then go back to sleep for a little while longer. With a mind made up, Rogue walked back over to her duffel bag and brought it over to the bed. Silently, she took off her coat and scarf before moving to open her bag and take out a change of clothes almost identical to the ones she was wearing. Additionally, she took out a small bar of soap, similar to the ones they give in hotels. Sitting down next to them, she proceeded to take off her gloves and Marie noticed the room felt chillier than any other she had been in. Those thoughts were set aside, though, as the sixteen-year-old reminded herself that a cold, damp room was better than nothing. Then, she bent and began to untie the laces to her boots; the process lasting longer than it would've had she been completely alert. The rest of her clothes followed easily.

Crossing the room to the bathroom was a mini-adventure in itself as she discovered that the floor wasn't only dusty but also absolutely freezing; Marie cursed under her breath as she hopped on her tip toes as fast as possible to her destination. Before getting in the shower, she turned on the pipes, nearly jumping at the powerful jet of water that flowed out. With only the barest of hopes, Marie moved the knob over to the side labeled "hot" and waited for any changes in the temperature of the water. She extended her hand to the shower and felt only cold pinpricks, until the water began to turn warm. After a couple of minutes, the shower was not very hot, but it wasn't cold either. Deciding that things weren't going to get any better than that, Rogue removed the rest of her clothes and finally got inside.

She made quick work of the shower, just in case the warm water only lasted briefly. Her dirty shirt served as a towel, then she bundled all her dirty clothes and practically ran back to the bed. As fast as she could, Rogue dressed in clean clothes before the cold got to her. The bag was jammed with the dirty clothes and then zipped closed and placed at the side of the bed, along with her boots.

For a few seconds afterwards, Rogue just stared at the bed. Slowly, the sixteen-year-old lifted the sheets, and peered under them, just to make sure there weren't any unwanted critters living there. Finding none, Rogue slipped inside and let her head rest on the damp-smelling pillow, her wet hair fanning out around her. Just as she was about to close her eyes, Marie remembered her hunting knife, and she reached out for it where she had left it at the foot of the bed. Once she had caught the comforting weight in her hand, she brought it back next to her, and let it rest right beside her head within easy reach of her right hand.

Then, and only then, did Rogue allow herself to close her eyes, shushing any whispers that threatened to break the calm.

* * *

Rogue's eyes opened suddenly, her mind immediately snapping to attention. The yellow light blinded her for a few seconds as she sat up quickly. Semi-dry curls went flying everywhere, but were hastily ignored as she tried to read the time off her wrist watch.

'Short hand's for the hours…' Marie grumbled mentally, before the time actually sunk in. When it did, curses immediately flew out of the Southerner's mouth.

It was 3:30 in the morning.

She somehow managed to stuff her feet into her boots and lace them up in record time. Then, she dug around her duffel bag for a hair band, her toothbrush and a small tube of toothpaste. Her brown locks were tied back without even a glance at the mirror.

The bathroom sink's faucet groaned as it was opened, but otherwise spewed out clean-looking water. Rogue quickly brushed her teeth, and then splashed her face to chase away any sleepiness that had been left behind. The sleeve of her sweater served as a face towel as the sixteen-year-old crossed the room back to the bed. There, she picked up her green long coat from the foot of the bed, wrapped her scarf snug around her neck, and fit her gloves over her pale hands. Anything that had been taken out of the bag the night before and left out, was quickly put back in it before it was zipped closed.

Rogue hefted her duffel bag over her shoulder and grabbed the room keys from where she had tossed them on the night stand before going to sleep. She took one more glance over the room to make sure nothing had been left, and then walked away.

* * *

The bar was as silent as it was when she had arrived the day before.

'God dammit! I missed it! I missed the cage fight!' Rogue fumed internally as she took in the sight of the empty cage. The place was full of evidence that the fight had happened, though; the cage floor was slick and shiny by what could only be assumed to be water or sweat, and even from where she was standing, she could see the splatters of blood here and there. All around the cage, the ground was littered with beer bottles and pieces of food, and many of the chairs were either askew or knocked over. There were still some patrons sitting around, talking in low voices and sipping at their beer.

Rogue crossed the place with a grimace on her face and reached the bar. Immediately, she noticed the wilderness man. He was sitting in the same spot as before, empty beer bottles in front of him, sipping at one that was still halfway full. Not a single mark marred any part of his visible skin, and Marie found herself wondering if the man had chickened out of the cage fight.

Sammy was busy with something or other, his back turned from her. So she just settled with placing the keys with the bright red plastic on the counter, next to the tipping jar, and left without a word to anyone.

* * *

It was slightly light outside.

Marie marveled at how bright the snow looked so late into the night—or, well, early in the morning—as she walked around the bar towards the parking lot. There were very few cars parked out, but she found what she wanted right next to a beat up camper. A smile lit up her face and she practically squealed at the sight.

She crossed the small parking lot as fast as she dared with her boots, until she reached the car. Just by standing in front of it, the teenager could tell it was a 1969 Camaro. It was a little beat up, and the black paint looked scratched around the hood, but it was still beautiful to her. And the tires even had chains!

A furtive look thrown back at the bar made Rogue realize there was a window overlooking the parking lot. But one had to stand beside the wall inside to see her, and the very few patrons were too busy with their drinks to be wandering around. Once she decided no one was going to come and bother her, Rogue walked over to the driver's side and placed her bag on the floor. She ruffled through it until she found what she was looking: a long piece of flat metal with a hook at the end.

With an ease that could only come from practice, the girl unlocked the Camaro and got inside.

It smelled like old leather and cigarettes. She really didn't have a problem with that.

The owner of this car was obviously a big person, as the seat was pushed all the way to the back, and the steering wheel and mirrors were all at impossible angles for her. A quick adjustment to everything made Rogue that much more comfortable. A few seconds passed while she enjoyed sitting in a classic, before her mind caught up with the fact she was stealing it. And she hadn't even stocked up in supplies yet!

A growl of annoyance escaped her lips as she got out of the Camaro and closed the door softly shut. Purposefully, Rogue marched right back across the parking lot, away from Sammy's Bar, crossed the deserted road, and reached Lyle Blue's Gas Station. There, she made a beeline for the mini-mart. She studiously ignored the desolate-looking Police Department on the other side.

The entrance door jingled as she pushed it open, causing a blonde young man with big, clear blue eyes to look up from a magazine. Said magazine disappeared under the counter in a flurry of rushed movements, as the pale boy's face slowly turned pinkish. For a moment, Rogue just stood there, then something snapped her out and she gave the man a lovely wide smile before grabbing a plastic basket and moving away to the little aisles.

She watched him from the corner of her eye, saw him pretend to be busy while stealing looks towards her. Every so often their gazes would "cross," and Rogue would smirk rather playfully his way before continuing to grab food. Most of the things in the basket were too big to hide easily inside her coat, but other things, like protein bars and sweets went directly to the deep pockets.

It only took a couple of minutes to get everything she needed for the road, so she quickly found herself standing at the cash register, allowing to be checked out by the rapidly flushing man. She smiled as brightly as she could.

"Y-you just arrived in town?" the blonde man stuttered. Rogue let her eyes widen in innocence.

"Yeah! How'd you know?" she asked as sweetly as she could, trying to hide her accent along the way.

He let out a nervous little laugh. "Well, Laughlin City is pretty small, and I can tell you're not from around here. Besides, it's nearly four in the morning. Not a lot of people passing through at this hour."

"Well, you caught me," Rogue answered with a giggle of her own. She suddenly remembered she had seen a sign announcing vacancies in some cabins near the entrance of town when she had arrived via 18-wheeler. "Actually, I'm staying over at the cabins, right before the entrance of town?" her voice trailed off in question, as if wondering if the guy knew what she was talking about.

"Oh yeah, I know the place!" the man answered, smiling, and Rogue decided he was cute. Stupid, but cute.

"Yeah, I think it's just such a cute place, you know?" The man nodded vigorously. "Oh! My bad, I haven't introduced myself, now have I?" The man began to stutter again. "I'm Helen, and it's very nice to meet you!" One gloved hand stretched out towards him, and out of instinct, he took it and shook it.

"I-I Luke. I mean, my name; it's Luke," he stuttered out while still shaking her hand. And even afterwards, when there was silence, he kept holding on to it.

"Ah, Luke, honey? I'm gonna need my hand back…"

"Huh? Oh! Right…" All appendages were returned to their rightful owners, then, in a rather awkward moment of silence.

"So I'm new in town," Rogue began again with a breathy laugh that was quickly copied by Luke, "and out of all things to forget in a trip like mine, guess what I forgot? Food! Can you believe it?"

"Oh, wow, ye—"

"So I came into town hoping against all hope, _something _was open at this time of night, and I'm just so lucky to have found you!" she gestured excitedly at him with a big grin on her face.

Luke smiled and began to stutter again, but Rogue just plowed on.

"But we gotta be honest here," she said frowning, "for a stay like mine, I'm gonna need more than a loaf of Wonder Bread and some peanut butter." She gestured at her groceries of choice. "So, I'm wondering, maybe you can point me to the right direction of the grocery store? For you know, later on in the day…"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. It's right down this road…" Luke began to signal somewhere off through the window behind him towards his left. Rogue took the opportunity to lean into the counter, dangerously close to the blonde man.

"So you go down that road…" Rogue's voice turned throaty, as she raised her right arm to follow Luke's left. Luke began to nod rapidly again, cheeks as red as a tomato, as he continued stuttering out the directions to Creakey's Grocery Business.

Creakey's Grocery Business. Marie fought the urge to smack herself on the forehead.

Distraction securely in place, the teenager's left hand moved deftly towards the little shelves holding all the cigarettes against the wall. A quick peek allowed her to identify which ones she wanted. In a moment's breath, the cigarettes were nestled right beside the Slim Jims somewhere inside her coat.

Once all directions, and all the "thank you's" and "you're welcome's" were handed about, Luke finally rang up her purchases. Everything managed to fit into just two bags.

"Well Luke, it was really nice to meet you. I guess I'll see you around," Rogue's sweet tone remained in place as she said her goodbyes. But just as she was about to reach the door, Luke called to her.

"Hey, Helen? Where's your car?"

It was a good question to ask. After all, the gas station was deserted. Rogue grimaced, before slowly turning back around.

"Uh, well…" Rogue fished around for a second, before settling on using one of those never-ending half-truths. "Actually, I went to the bar a bit earlier. I just wanted something to drink." The teenager's eyes roamed all over the place. "Place was so dead, though."

"Oh, yeah. That usually happens after the cage fights…" the man's voice trailed off at the look of semi-horror marring her face. "I-it's a Canadian thing," he tried to reassure her with a wave of his hand, trying to play off the fact that cage fights were brutal.

"Oh." She was silent for a moment, and then an idea popped into her head and she really couldn't stop herself. "Um, hey Luke? I was wondering…if you were free later today, in the afternoon. Maybe you could come to my place and have, like, a late lunch/early dinner kind of thing?"

Luke's eyes widened comically, before he struggled for composure. "Sure, I don't think I have anything planned for later…today." He lent against the counter, trying to seem casual while his face looked like he had been too near to an oven.

"Great! So, at three?"

The blonde stared at Rogue for a couple of seconds, before her words seemed to sink in. He quickly agreed, asking if he should bring anything.

How adorable.

"No, it's alright," she replied breezily. "I guess I'll see you later, then." She pretended to turn back to the door, but at the last moment looked back at Luke. "By the way, it's the last cabin on the left. Wouldn't want you to get lost, right?" There was shared laughter for a second, before Rogue decided to end the conversation.

The door jingled as the brunette let herself out, groceries swinging softly beside her. A smirk slowly formed on her face as she replayed the conversation in her head.

"God, some people are just so easy," she muttered with a shake of her head.

* * *

The Camaro was only half-hidden in the shadows of the Sammy's building. From Rogue's vantage point, she could see clearly that the parking lot was devoid of all people. She trudged on as fast as she could back to the car, glad to know that the owner hadn't suddenly appeared. Rogue would've had to touch him, otherwise.

Her bag was already inside the car. Besides, she really wanted to get out of there. Preferably in a classic.

The plastic bags by her side rustled slightly as she switched them from her right hand to her left. Once she positioned herself beside the driver's door, Marie made sure to look around before moving to open the door. Just as her hand reached the handle, the sound of scuffling and a loud grunt pierced the silence.

The sixteen-year-old dropped her bags, eyes wide and eyebrows high in surprise, before her vision swerved towards the direction of the sound. For a few breathless moments, Rogue swore she could hear her own heart beating in her ears.

The man, the wilderness man that had been drinking beer at the bar before and after she used the room, had shoved another patron right across the bar window's view and slammed him against the wall. But that hadn't been really what had frozen her in place, no. It was that when the other patron had tried to fight back, the wilderness man unsheathed _blades _right from his _knuckles_. Three, long, shiny metal blades out of nowhere and very, very close to the scared patron's neck.

And then the muzzle of a shotgun came into view, followed by the rest of the weapon being held by Sammy himself. Rogue's breath caught again as the old man pointed directly at the back of the wild man.

"Get out of my bar, freak!" Sammy nearly shouted, and the girl's eyebrows slammed down into a frown. So much for being a fatherly figure. But then her thoughts switched directions as the man with the blades moved so fast and raised his empty fist towards the shotgun. And right in front of Rogue's eyes, a new batch of blades appeared, slicing the weapon in half.

'A mutant…' she heard herself whisper in her own mind.

The mutant growled something she couldn't make out, and just like that, the _claws_ had disappeared. Rogue watched as he fixed his jacket rather roughly, before walking out of view.

After a spectacle like that, the girl mused then, the only place that man was going was to his car to get the hell out of dodge. It only took a split second to understand just what that might mean to her if the mutant was the owner of the Camaro she was in the process of taking away.

Quick as she could, Rogue wrenched the car door open, and hauled her bag out of the passenger's seat. The wilderness mutant man rounded the towards the parking lot just half a breath after she locked and closed the door.

He hesitated a moment when he saw her, but kept walking in her direction anyways. Rogue's breath caught in her throat for the umpteenth time in horrible anticipation. There were only two vehicles where she was at: the Camaro and the camper. The man's dark eyes shined rather eerily in the low light as he stared straight into her own green eyes. The urge to look away rose inside her all of a sudden, but out of a habit of stubbornness, she forced herself to stare back unflinchingly. Oh, but how she wanted to flinch when he glowered back at her. Rogue set her jaw tight, and raised her chin in a subconscious behavior of defiance.

With each step that drew him closer to her, she found her heart beating a little more rapidly. And just when he was less than five feet away from her, Marie really thought that she'd have to deal with a man who could sprout friggin' metal claws out of his hands. Out of the dark recesses of her mind, soft whispers began to rise, and Rogue suppressed a shiver. All of a sudden, the man broke eye contact, and directed his gaze towards the driver's side of the camper.

Oh. The sixteen-year-old let out all the air in her rush out suddenly, and while in the act of breathing back in a new batch of fresh oxygen, came up with an idea. An idea that hadn't even been completely half-formed before deciding to unleash it upon the unsuspecting man.

"Are you going to the next town over?" Rogue's voice was rushed and higher than normal. The man stopped his movements all of a sudden, staring back at the girl in guarded confusion from his position next to the front wheel of driver's side.

"Why?" he practically growled out, a frown covering his features.

"Cuz I'm going to the next town over?" Someone, somewhere was calling her stupid. "I'm just new to these parts and don't know jack shit about anything…" The man's eyebrows rows slightly. Inside, Rogue was dying of shame, and the hollow echoes of the asshole men she had absorbed before began a distant sniggering.

They always began acting up when she let her guard down.

A grimace marred her face as she mentally vanished the voices elsewhere. Eyes narrowed in resolve. "Look," her voice took a biting edge to it as she bent down to pick up one of the grocery bags, "I got food." She raised the bag high, nearly all the way next to her pale face.

An incredulous look took over his features at her pronouncement. Silence reigned between them for a very long moment, and then the man took a breath before speaking. "Look, kid—"

"Just until the next town over..." Marie's voice cut through what he was going to say, trying to convince him without letting him give any excuses. At that moment, a breeze swept through the parking lot, and the biting wind caused the sixteen-year-old to unexpectedly shiver. The girl didn't take notice of her body's reaction, eyes resolutely staring back at the wilderness man's. She did notice something change in his expression, and she saw his decision long before he gave it out loud.

"Get in," he growled whilst frowning quite severely.

Rogue ignored the look entirely and just reached for all her bags, before leaping the few feet over to the camper's passenger's door. Inside, she was smiling like a little kid who got away with mischief.

* * *

His name was Logan, and he had an alias, too. Wolverine. It sounded wilderness-y.

She'd given up her own name, the one she hadn't said out loud since Mississippi.

After that exchange, Rogue had produced a variety of snacks to munch on and a couple of slightly warm beers. Following that, silence had ensued.

Nearly half an hour had passed by, and now Rogue had become sick and tired of watching the endless road of nothing but snow and pine trees. Her eyes had already taken in everything they possibly could about the man driving back at the bar, but she would take him any day over her other choice of view. Her gaze directed itself to Logan, and began to stare shamelessly.

It only took a few seconds before he started fidgeting under her scrutiny.

"What?" Logan growled defensively.

Rogue tried to unsuccessfully smother an amused smirk. As the seconds dragged on and he kept glaring at her, Marie searched her mind for a good enough excuse to explain her staring; one that didn't begin with, "'Cuz I'm creepy as hell," preferably.

It came to her all of a sudden then. "Do they hurt?" her eyes moved over to the hand resting on the steering wheel, "You know, when they come out?" She was actually genuinely curious.

Logan's eyes had moved with Rogue's and he too stared at his hand, before moving it away to the bottom of wheel. "Every time." The tone in his answer told her he didn't want to speak about it anymore.

As the silence ensued once again, Rogue transferred her gaze to her own hands. They were ungloved, having taken them off earlier to munch on a candy bar much more comfortably and not putting them back since. The pale skin had a variety of small, but still interesting, scars, and the edges of her hands were slightly callused. Her nails were filed short; she hadn't painted them since Caldecott.

"I'm different too, you know." The words were out of her mouth before she'd even realize it. In nearly an entire year of running and lying and hurting people before they hurt her, she had never said what she was out loud. And now, now, "I'm a mutant, too."

Something inside of her changed at her pronouncement, and she could say she almost felt normal again. She was confiding her secrets in someone with similar secrets, the first mutant she knowingly met.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Logan staring straight ahead, no emotion in his face. And just like that, Rogue's hopeful face fell flat.

Of course the guy wouldn't react. Who was she to move some man named the Wolverine who sprouted honest-to-god metal claws out of his hands, and went from bar to bar searching for cage fights?

She was so stupid. The whispers suddenly rushed forwards in a hazy cacophony which she steam-rolled over before they reached an actually bothersome level.

With jerky movements, Rogue grabbed the balled up gloves resting in her hand and began unfolding them.

"Look," Logan began and moved towards her still bare hands, "if you're cold just—"

Marie nearly jumped away from him then, and Logan froze in place with surprise etched into his face. They stared at each other, wide-eyed, for a few moments before he moved back to his seat and stared straight at the road ahead.

He searched for something in his jacket pocket, and produced a half-smoked cigar and a box of matches. As he was lighting it, his mumbled voice broke through the forced silence.

"Wasn't going to hurt you."

Marie kept staring at the man, taking in his demeanor. He looked sorry he had surprised her, and began to fidget in the long silence that followed his words.

"Look, I ain't good with people, alright? And—"

"It's my mutation," Marie announced, interrupting the beginning of an awkward apology with her own word vomit. Logan raised an eyebrow. "It's in my skin. People touch me, they get hurt. Badly. I just didn't want to hurt the first mutant I've ever met, alright? S'not your fault." Her eyes shifted towards the dash.

Logan's reaction to her words after a whole minute was asking how old she was. After a moment's consideration, she answered truthfully. When she fired the same question back at him, he also answered truthfully.

"Amnesia? Come on, seriously?"At the sight of another one of Logan's raised eyebrows, Rogue began to laugh. "What the hell have our lives become? Fucking daytime soap operas? Geez!"

Conversation flowed easily between them after that, until Rogue pointed out that Logan should be wearing a seatbelt. And that really was how the conversation came to a close, because if she hadn't said anything, maybe, just maybe, an enormous tree wouldn't have come swinging from out of nowhere, effectively colliding with the camper. And the Wolverine wouldn't have gone flying out the windshield. And that fire on the back of the camper wouldn't have started.

* * *

Rogue cursed the air blue as she struggled to get her seatbelt off. It wasn't working.

"Kid, you alright?" Logan's voice rose from ahead and Rogue froze before raising her head to stare numbly at the man. He was standing, not a scratch on his body, except for the rapidly closing wound on his forehead. "Kid!" he repeated, this time louder, making the sixteen-year-old jump, but also answer immediately.

"The seatbelt's stuck!" she nearly screeched in frustration as she returned her attention to the offending object. She gave up pulling at it, and raised her right leg to pull her butterfly knife out the boot.

A roar made her drop the blade into the side of her seat in surprise. She looked up again, only to find not just Logan, but also a giant of a hairy man with very sharp-looking nails. Both men were trading punches and scratches, roaring and growling as they attacked each other wildly.

Another curse left Rogue's lips as she forced herself to concentrate on getting out of the now blazing vehicle. She fished for her knife once more and after finding it, began cutting away at the seatbelt. It took what seemed to her forever to get free but once she did she wasted no time in grabbing her duffel bag and opening the door to get out. Or at least, she tried to open the door. For some reason it was stuck, too.

"God damn, cock sucking, fucking door!" Each growled out word was accentuated with a shove at the door. At the sixth attempt, the door sprung open, causing Rogue spill out of the car ungracefully, the bag landing heavily on her stomach.

The first thing she registered after regaining her breath, was the freezing temperature of the snow, stabbing pins into her exposed skin and soaking into her clothes. The next thing she realized was that the Wolverine and that strange man were still fighting. She sat up just in time to watch how the giant scary man grabbed Logan like a rag doll and threw him aside, somewhere towards the trees.

Rogue began moving.

The hairy man turned towards her, eyes glowing eerily yellow in the morning light. She practically ripped out the zipper from her bag before digging her arms inside. The beastly man growled out a terrifying laugh. Her right hand found the hunting knife, and without a second thought pulled it out. In one fluid movement, she was standing up, her weight centered, every muscle tensed for action. The man she came to realize was the second mutant she had ever met moved towards her. The teenager bolted.

She ran as fast as she could, praying to whatever deity was still listening to her that she didn't slip in her boots. Behind her, the feral's thudding steps came in unison with another bout of his horrible laughing. The girl tried to ignore him, focusing solely on the white field ahead of her. But that sight was so disheartening; there was no one around for miles. If she screamed, no one would come to her aid. A sob threatened to rip out of her throat as she came to a very bitter conclusion. This monster was going to get her, and there was nothing she could do about it.

The sob turned into her very own growl. She wasn't going down without a fight. Not Marie, not Rogue, not her. Rogue ripped the sheath away from the knife, and then practically skated to a stop, turning around in one quick motion to see her attacker.

He was running towards her with his arms and legs, like an animal. Her whole body tensed in preparation. An animalistic fanged smile split his face as she raised her knife into a fighting stance. The distance between them disappeared in two seconds, and then the mutant leapt into the air, barreling towards her, bloody claws fully extended.

A shriek as wild as the monster's roar rose from within her. The young girl's heart felt like it would burst as her mind went completely silent for the first time in nearly a year.

The monster got so close to her his claws actually scratched her arms. But then a crimson light filled her vision and the animal gave out a wounded roar as the light threw him backwards, farther than the now engulfed camper, farther than where the fight with Logan had happened, until he disappeared into the snow.

A rushing sound filled her ears as she expelled a breath. Then everything went black.

* * *

A/N: Kudos to Mr. Stark for reminding Ms. Potts that trying to get out of a battered and bullet-riddled, gold-titanium alloy suit was not the worst thing she'd caught him doing.

A/N: I didn't put in Rogue's reaction to Logan's camper cuz I think my Rogue's personality, paired off with her slow journey north-wards, has made her not really care about a person's living situation. And pleeaaassssseeee reviewwwwwwwwww! xD


	4. In Another Light

**DISCLAIMER: **Not mine…

BLAZING GLORY:

CHAPTER FOUR: IN ANOTHER LIGHT:

_The monster got so close to her his claws actually scratched her arms. But then a crimson light filled her vision and the animal gave out a wounded roar as the light threw him backwards, farther than the now engulfed camper, farther than where the fight with Logan had happened, until he disappeared into the snow._

_A rushing sound filled her ears as she expelled a breath. Then everything went black._

* * *

"Kid."

The growling sound brought Rogue back from deep unconsciousness. Her heavy eyelids fluttered slightly open, and then closed again, immediately welcoming the darkness.

There were voices, but they sounded miles and miles away. What happened? The sluggishness of her mind was slowly retreating, and in its place, memories came leaking in.

Laughlin City. The Bar. Wolverine. The camper. The monster. Glowing yellow eyes staring down at her, wide fanged smile gleaming, claws dripping with dark blood. And then he was coming towards her, claws outstretched; he was so close she could make out every detail of his face, she could see how his nails reached her arms, the tips digging into the flesh, she could feel the burning...she could hear his laughter—

"Rogue!" It was a near roar that split right through the haze.

Rogue sat up with a gasp.

Wide green eyes took in everything and nothing as they adjusted to the white light of the room. Was it a room?

"Where the hell am I?" The question left her before her mind registered that the whole place was shifting in a strange, wavering motion. There was movement to her right, and she whipped her head towards that direction.

Logan was there, eyeing her all over before a small smile crossed his face. In front of him was a dark-skinned woman with snow-white hair. She was about a head shorter than Logan, and Marie noticed that her hands were on his chest and shoulder, as if she'd been keeping the man at bay.

Rogue's eyes narrowed to slits.

"Who the hell are you?"

Laughter came from her left, and she twisted to see who had made the noise. There was a man sitting in a chair, his back facing her. His fingers were dancing all over a panel. It looked like he was sitting in a cockpit. Oh God, was this a plane? Her musings were interrupted when the pilot-man spoke again.

"Looks like The Wolverine got an echo."

* * *

"So this man, Professor Xavier, sent you guys to save us?"

Storm, as Rogue came to learn was the woman's name, nodded.

"Because he's also a mutant?" At this new question, Storm frowned a little in confusion before nodding a little slower. Logan, sitting next to her, had begun to smirk.

"And he can see what's happening from very far away?" At the third question, the woman looked like she began to understand that Rogue was speaking cynically. She closed her eyes for a moment, and took a deep breath. The sixteen-year-old continued talking before Storm could interrupt.

"And that thing that attacked us, Sabretooth, is an Evil Mutant, who works for Evil Mutant People, who have Evil Mutant Plans?" The last question made Logan snort, and Storm's eyes snapped open, her gaze pinning him in place, before she shifted it towards Marie, and the youngest mutant felt like her insides were shriveling up. Change of tactics, then.

Green eyes turned towards the wilderness man's profile, and she did not blink until he turned towards her. With a completely deadpan expression, she uttered words that made Logan want to giggle, just a little bit. "Forget soap operas, this is a fucking Syfy episode…" she then turned her head again, and let it rest against the metal wall as she closed her eyes, completely ignoring Storm's slightly scandalized expression, and Cyclops's 'harrumph,' "…cheesy costumes and all."

It wasn't until the weather witch had huffed haughtily and gone to join her fellow "X-Man," and they had immersed themselves in whispered conversations, that Logan's left boot bumped the teenager's right one. Rogue's lids opened lazily, her green orbs having somehow already found his brown ones. Wordlessly, the gruff man produced two objects from the inside of his leather jacket. One was gleaming a shiny jade green; the other was covered by tan leather.

Marie gasped softly. Her blades. She took them slowly from his awaiting hands, cradling them in her own as if they were delicate birds. After stroking them softly, once, to make sure they were real, she looked up again, at who she decided would be her new friend. Her smile was wide and open and she knew her face had morphed into something younger, more innocent; he looked a little flustered. The big hunting knife went immediately into the duffel bag that had been resting next to her, nestled safely between mounds of used clothes.

She took the butterfly though, and decided to show it off, just a little. Logan watched as she let it swing open, and then became a blur of green as she successfully managed to pull off a full twirl. The girl finished the move by jamming the closed blade into her boot, where it belonged. Rogue looked at Logan's expression and was pleased when she found his eyebrows had risen in appreciation. She smiled wide again, like a kid who just won a gold star, and the man smiled back, eyes closed and head shaking from side to side. Yeah, she knew. She was one hell of a piece of work.

* * *

Marie had never been to a mansion of this caliber. The closest she had gotten was when she and the ghouls had sneaked into old lady Miriam's plantation house. All she had gotten for her troubles had been a near death by shotgun. Sometimes she swore she could still feel the stinging heat on her cheek and ear.

Good times.

No, the mansion she was watching from way on up inside the jet almost looked like a castle, the grounds and bushes and trees neatly trimmed, almost magical.

"That's a school?" she asked, just a bit obnoxiously.

"Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters," Scott Summers elaborated.

"Mutants, you mean," Logan's voice rose from the other side of the jet, where Marie had left him with her bag. Come to think of it, he hadn't moved from his position ever since he sat down somewhere above Alberta.

"Perceptive," Summers spoke again, his tone painting a picture in her head of him wearing a lab coat and nerd glasses, inspecting a Wolverine-monkey hanging from his tail inside a large cage. It seemed that the same picture had painted itself in Logan's head too, because he growled in annoyance. It didn't help matters.

As the jet began to set down under a basketball court, Marie continued talking.

"So you teach mutants?" This time, Marie was actually interested on what they had to say. Rogue had never met a mutant before, and then she found the Wolverine, and then the Sabretooth. And then Storm and Cyclops. Rough and tough. Quick and clean. Good and evil as well, apparently. Seemed that mutants came in all varieties and forms. Just like regular humans.

For a moment, she let herself wonder what it would be like to walk down one of those mansion halls, not having to pretend what she was and what she wasn't. Rogue suddenly found herself snorting derisively, her eyes rolling as she turned away from the window and headed towards her duffel bag. Who was she kidding? No matter how free everyone was to be who they really were, they always just preferred to pretend. It's always easier. She should know.

The jet landed gracefully, her body only jerking slightly. She heard Logan let out the mother of all sighs, as if he'd just survived certain impending doom. Rogue smirked.

* * *

Goodness gracious, it was magnificent. Absolutely smooth. Completely unmarred. Rogue wanted to rub it with her fingertips. Do a little massage. Watch the skin comically pull his eyebrows up, and then fall down once again into that seriously bland expression the man was wearing on his face.

To this day, Rogue still swears she felt a rib crack when Logan elbowed her in the side. Effectively distracted from staring at the man-in-a-wheelchair's bald head, Rogue took the moment to realize that they were actually approaching this man. And why not? He seemed to be wearing a three-piece suit. Men in three-piece suits were usually the ones in charge.

Summers and Ororo Munroe left, to change clothes, to become teachers again.

And then the man in the wheelchair opened his mouth to introduce himself as Charles Xavier in that smooth British accent that sounded just lovely. And after explaining what the school was and did, he proceeded to inform them of his mutant abilities.

Telepathy.

Marie wanted to turn as red as a tomato. She wanted her head to explode into a million different chunks so that she could die in peace. Because he had said this as he looked her in the eye, and she knew that he knew what she had been imagining.

Rogue swallowed, raised her eyebrows, and maintained eye contact. Her face continued to be that flawless porcelain with the marring dark shadows under her eyes. Professor Xavier raised one of his own eyebrows, but otherwise kept talking, as if the incident had never happened. It's always easier to pretend.

He gave them a tour of the place, rolling his chair at a sedate pace, making Rogue's feet itch to move just a bit faster. One look at Wolverine and she knew he was in similar state. But this man did save them from certain death, so they might as well be courteous, and walk slowly; pretend that they weren't in a rush to go everywhere and nowhere.

But the place was beautiful, with amazing gardens and ponds and big trees to sit under. It had been so long since she had ridden a horse. Maybe she could have a go, once, before she left.

"Let me help you," Professor Xavier's smooth voice swirled inside her mind, just as it physically reached her ears. Logan had jumped, but Rogue, used to having more than one person in her head, just turned lazily from the window she had been looking out. There were kids playing on the basketball court where the jet had gone through. One girl was floating in mid air. One boy had divided himself in two.

Rogue wanted to run.

Logan snorted, and growled out something about not needing anyone's help.

And then it was silent as the professor stared straight at Logan's hardened eyes, and she returned to looking out the window. It seemed the floating girl had fallen, and the boy had become one again. He was helping her to stand up, was half-carrying her over to a bench.

Xavier's voice entered her mind again, then. The soft words he spoke made her tremble; it was too good to be true. Life did not give freebies like this. But apparently it did. He was willing to try and help her. Try and give her the tools to understand. To control. And who was she to deny such an opportunity?

Because no matter how easy it was for her to pretend she didn't care, she so desperately wanted to touch.

Two hot tears trailed down her cheeks, but she did not wipe them off. Instead, she turned one last time away from the window. Together with Logan, whose eyebrows were threatening to become one with the way he was frowning, they followed the man in the wheelchair down winding hallways and elaborate wooden doors, down strange elevators and even stranger underground facilities.

* * *

Rogue had to endure multiple blood tests, something she absolutely hated, since the sensation of needle pricks brought painful memories. Whose memories, though? She wasn't sure. After that, with the Wolverine—who was still a stranger—just a few feet away leaning against a nearby metal table, Dr. Jean Grey began to ask her an array of questions, a few of them quite embarrassing.

"Age?"

"Sixteen."

"Race?"

"Caucasian. Grandfather was African-Italian."

"When did your menstrual period begin?"

An eyebrow twitched slightly. "I was twelve."

"Would you say it comes in normal cycles?"

"Every twenty-eight days, on the dot."

"Are you sexually active?"

Marie refused to look anywhere but at the clipboard on which the telekinetic doctor was making annotations. She was covered in life-sucking skin. Of course she wasn't sexually active. But being the fast thinker that she was, the teenager quickly realized that the question was justified. After all, there was 'more than one way to skin the cat,' as it were. Best to be serious, though. Made the process faster. "I haven't had a partner in nearly a year."

"When did you become sexually active?"

Inhale. "I was twelve and a half." Exhale.

"Have you ever been pregnant?"

"No." But she once accidentally touched a pregnant prostitute. It had been strange, to say the least.

"Do you participate in any vice of any kind?"

"I drink, I smoke, I lie, and I steal to my heart's content." The young mutant's tone was full of attitude, making the doctor look up with a raised, skeptical eyebrow. Rogue sighed. "I smoke every once in a while." The older woman seemed satisfied and went back to her clipboard. Green eyes met with knowing brown ones, and the girl couldn't help the smirk that crossed her features.

"What's every once in a while?" Maintaining eye contact with Logan, the teenager spoke.

"A pack lasts me nearly half a year." The man closed his eyes, and shook his head silently. The same move, twice in one day. Rogue grinned.

The good doctor went on to ask her everything from eating habits, to moods, to the last time she took a shower. She was even asked how long had her hair grown since her mutation got activated. Yet as random and uncomfortable as the questions were, she wasn't truly bothered by Logan's presence. It was when the woman began to prod her with questions about her mutation that the girl's stomach clenched. Her heart rate rose just a little. The hairs on her arms and the back of her neck stood on end. This was all just too personal.

How did it feel, when she used her powers? Had she ever used them intentionally? When did they activate? How? Had she been angry, or sad, or stressed for some reason?

"You do realize that Logan's only connection to me was the fact that he let me hitchhike in his camper, right?" That shut the doctor up quickly. And then she was stammering.

"Ah-I did not kno-ow that." She cleared her throat. "Why didn't you say anything? He could've waited out in the hall…I-I-"

"It's alright. Got no shame in who and what I am." Didn't mean the girl was going to answer everything thrown her way completely truthfully. Or even answer at all. "So what's next?" Rogue asked, making it very obvious that the questions segment was over. "Live demonstration?"

At those words Dr. Grey choked, and watched wide-eyed as the teenager pulled off a glove with her teeth and rested it on the arm of the chair she was sitting on. She seemed to settle down just a bit though, when Rogue reached away from the people, and over to the vase of daisies on her lab desk. The girl could tell that both the man and the woman were extremely curious in what she would do, as they all unconsciously moved closer. A gloved hand took a flower by its long stem, and then her body turned towards the spectators. Once she was sure they were watching she transferred the flower to her bare hand in one smooth motion.

All three were transfixed as the flower stem began to pale, and the petals to droop. And then it was all turning yellowish, then brown, then it was nothing more than flower-shaped ash. A slight jerk of her hand, and the thing crumbled to the floor. It resembled nothing more than a pile of dust.

"Plants get it worse. Animals, though, are more resistant. Tougher. Humans count as animals, you know."

Her announcement was met with silence, but when she looked at their expressions, it wasn't fear on their faces. It was curiosity on the woman's. Respect on Logan's. And then Dr. Grey had to ruin it all by opening her rather large mouth.

Logan made it look like it was coincidence when he chose to stand in front of Dr. Grey as she concentrated on scribbling information on the clipboard. In reality, he had strategically placed himself in a position that deterred Rogue from advancing on the redheaded telekinetic. Wordlessly, he had saved them from a cracked jaw and split knuckles.

Rogue's shoulders had risen like hackles, and stiffened in place. Her face had warped into something truly unpleasant, any trace of her deceptive angelic features gone. And the good doctor hadn't noticed. No, she was too busy on her moral high horse spewing forth word after idiotic word about how her powers were too dangerous to be taken lightly. That she should always be aware of her surroundings. Always protect others from an unsuspecting, unintentional attack.

Like Marie didn't know. Like she didn't spend weeks trying to claw off her skin. As if for months she didn't wear so many layers, her body looked shapeless. Because staying no longer than two months in one place, using different aliases and fake accents, and a rainbow of hair dyes was just for fun.

"She gets it," Logan's low grumbled words cut off Grey's own. For a few moments there was silence, the teenager unable to see their expressions. The tension was palpable though, and at the end, the redhead mumbled a soft 'alright.'

Unexpected appreciation filled the young mutant. It had been so long since someone defended her. Everyone just assumed that she always wanted defend herself. Dr. Grey cleared her throat then, and Logan moved over to lean against a table.

"Right, so…I've done all necessary tests for you, Rogue. Do you have any questions?" The sixteen-year-old was pleased to hear the slight hesitation in the woman's voice, the inability to meet her in the eye. Still, she thought hard for anything she might be curious about.

Rogue never mentioned all the consciences in her head. All the voices whispering memories, sensations, opinions and ideals into her ear. Every. Single. Second. Didn't mention how she ignored them until the girl swore everything was silent up there.

"No, no questions."

"Alright, then. Well, since Logan heard everything about you, how about you hear everything about him?" It was obvious the redhead was trying to be nice to make up for her various fumbles.

The brunette didn't want to stay around, though. For one thing, she already knew almost everything about him that she needed to know. Amnesia for the last 15 years, healing factor, metal claws, and animalistic characteristics. Up until a few hours ago he used to live off a camper, looking for cage fights in every other Canadian bar. And apparently, if her suspicions were correct, he did not care for flying. That really was the Wolverine's life. Simple as that. Besides, she wanted to be alone. Just for a while.

"Nah, you go play doctor with him. I know my way back to the elevators. Ms. Storm said she'd lead me to my new room." Marie left before Jean could respond.

* * *

In reality, once Rogue was above ground, she just paid five bucks to this kid with a forked tongue to tell her where the girl's rooms were. In the girl's wing, she politely introduced herself, and asked for directions to the room where the newbie was going to stay.

The room was enormous. It didn't really look it, though, since there were three beds placed inside, and it seemed that two cluttered rooms had fused together. There were two girls, each resting on a bed. One was Asian, with chunks of hair painted in a myriad of colors. She was listening to music, bobbing her head up and down as she read a magazine. The other girl was white, with light brown hair and wearing a soft pink dress. It looked like she was doing homework of some kind while sitting cross-legged. Both looked up at the same time when Rogue stepped through.

"Ah! New girl!" The Asian practically squealed, tearing her headphones off and jumping out of bed. Marie took a small step back.

"Jubes, you're scaring her," the other girl admonished. She then stretched her legs and stood up on the bed. Except she wasn't on the bed. It was more like through the bed. The Asian girl ignored it as if it were a very normal thing.

'It is,' Marie thought in realization and no small amount of wonder as the girl walked through the bed to stand next to the Asian one. The green eyed girl forced herself to not take another step backwards. After all, they didn't look all that threatening. Just a couple of skinny girls.

"Please ignore Ms. Loud and Proud. My name's Kitty Pryde." She had a wide smile on her face. It seemed she was genuinely happy to meet Rogue as she enthusiastically extended a hand to be shaken.

Rogue did so a little numbly. She hadn't been around someone so bubbly in so long. And now, as the Asian girl pushed Kitty aside to get her own hand shaken, the sixteen-year-old realized that there were two of them. And she would be their roommate for an indefinite period of time.

"I'm Jubilee. You have no idea how excited I've been since Mr. Summers carried your bag into our room. I couldn't wait to meet you! I love meeting new people." It was all said in one rushed breath. Marie couldn't help but raise her eyebrows, a little taken aback.

"I'm Rogue."

"You're bag's right there, by the way," Kitty said while pointing over at the barest corner of the room where her familiar black duffel bag was lying on the third bed.

Green eyes brightened, and the girl decided to completely ignore the welcoming committee in favor of making sure that everything in the bag was as it should be.

"We haven't touched it, if that's what you're worried about," Jubilee spoke as she threw herself back on the bed with the yellow covers. It was obvious her excitement of meeting someone new had already passed.

Rogue wasn't worried about the wide-eyed teenagers. The older mutants, though, were a whole other thing.

"Hey," Kitty called, her voice soft and sweet, making Marie look up from her new bed. "Everyone in the mansion eats dinner at six thirty. Maybe you wanna join us?"

Kitty Pryde looked so…innocent.

'Ah, you'll taint such a pretty girl. You'll put fear on that face. Make her cry. Make her bitter,' the voice that rose in the girl's mind was female and mocking. She hadn't heard that voice so clearly for nearly three months. Rogue narrowed her eyes, and mercilessly squished the voice to the deepest recesses of her brain once more.

"Um…you okay?" Kitty's voice made her jump and return to reality. Her green eyes focused over the smaller girl's shoulder.

"'M fine," she answered with a forced, fake smile. "We'll see, about joining you, that is."

"Alright," Kitty spoke back with a real smile on her face.

"Yeah."

Marie lazily returned to the bag she had been searching through so fervently before. 'Over half of my clothes are dirty. Ah, thank goodness I'll be able to do laundry soon.' She took out the clean clothes and set them on the bed, eyeing the small empty bureau opposite the bed, already deciding into which drawer would go what. She noticed that each drawer had a keyhole, and that on top of the bureau was a small pair of silvery keys. Good. She'd have her privacy.

It was when a shirt fell to the floor and she leaned down to pick it up that she noticed she was still wearing that green coat of hers. Gloved fingers pulled an edge of the coat closer for inspection, and the sixteen-year-old noticed just how dark the once emerald-green article had turned. 'Speaking of dirty clothes, this coat really needs a good wash, too…'

Rogue turned her back to the occupants of the room, making sure to create a small barrier for what she was about to do. She unceremoniously removed her coat, and set it on the bed, all the random contents in the pockets jingling, or clinking. After removing the gloves, deft fingers quickly searched every single space of the coat, unearthing a multitude of treasures ranging from food to money, from jewelry to used credit cards, from a pack of playing cards to her brand new pack of cigarettes. All of these objects—except for the cigarettes, which ended up inside her boot—made their way into now empty duffel bag, keeping her hunting knife company. Closing it with a rather loud 'Zip!' of the bag's zipper, she tromped over to the bureau, opened the last drawer, and stuffed the bag in. The silver keys jingled rather loudly as she grabbed them and jammed one of them into the last keyhole, effectively locking the duffel bag's drawer.

She didn't bother with putting the rest of her things away. Underwear, a plain, long-sleeved, black t-shirt and light blue pair of jeans, and her black ballet flats—the only other pair of shoes she owned, at the moment—found themselves in the girl's grasp, before she turned back to the other two occupants of the room and making them jump when she loudly announced she was going to take a bath. After taking two steps forward though, she stopped, and began to think rationally once more.

"Um, where's the bathroom?"

Once they had recovered from their mild shock, both Jubilee and Kitty pointed without looking at a door next to the room's entrance.

* * *

She hadn't bathed in a long, long, time. Marie had been too scared of what exactly had been done in the bathtubs of the places she stayed before moving in. But this place was so ritzy, so clean. The bathroom smelled of lilacs for God's sake. The porcelain tub practically glittered.

When the sixteen-year-old lowered her naked body into the nearly-scalding hot water she had filled the tub with, she gave out a hiss of pleasure, settled into a comfortable position, and stayed there until her skin was as wrinkly as old Jenkins's, over in Caldecott. He was a man who had been nearing his 103rd birthday back when she lived in the town. He always sang the blues, rocking in his chair in his home's balcony. It was those memories that made her get out of the water and dry herself as fast as possible.

Once dressed in her clean clothes, she struggled to find a place to hide her cigarettes. Her butterfly was safely hidden in her front jean pocket, but the small carton pack was too obvious. A loud sigh escaped Marie as she took three cigarettes from the pack, along with her lighter and stuffed them inside her other front jean pocket. The rest of the pack, she stuffed back into one of her boots.

With a satisfied sigh, Marie threw all her dirty stuff in the hamper and left the bathroom. Not once did she look in the mirror.

Her boots made themselves at home by the foot of her new bed, and without even saying goodbye to her new dorm mates, she opened the room's door and left.

* * *

It was still cold outside, over here in New York, even though it was not snow covered like Canada. She had really wanted to see Alaska.

Next time, then.

With another sigh, she leaned against the railing of the balcony she found herself in, and looked at the gardens, admiring the landscape. It really felt like another world.

If only her lighter worked, everything would be perfect. But no, it had to die at that very moment. Twisting her lips into a dissatisfied grimace, she pushed herself away from the balcony and weaved her way out of the library she discovered.

She was a girl determined. She needed a cigarette. But to smoke one, she needed a light. The kitchen had to have something. Her pace quickened at the thought of being able to finally inhale warm smoke.

It took nearly ten minutes for her to decipher the maze of hallways and stairs of the mansion before she found the kitchen. The place was a simple thing. Spacious, of course, but still simple. The cabinets, stoves, and fridge ran along the wall right next to the kitchen entrance, and continued onto the left side. In the center was a rather large island, meant to be more of an impromptu lunch table than anything. Colorful decorations and various plant life made the whole place seem cheerful. For a brief moment, Marie thought she had fallen into one of those fake pictures home magazines always published. But then there was a _click-swish-click; _a sound Rogue immediately recognized, and her sharp green eyes snapped over to the farthest right corner.

There were two dark blue, restaurant-style booths fitted at the end of the kitchen, right next to a large, curtained window. On the farthest booth, with his slender back turned to her, was a boy. And if it wasn't a boy, then it was one of the most manliest girls she had ever had the opportunity to glance at. The boy, as she firmly decided he was, wore a dark brown hooded jacket. His dirty blonde hair lay haphazardly around his head, as if he had just scratched it and not bothered to smooth the strands down. From her vantage point she could see a bit of his profile, and she saw his jaw move a bit as his hand placed a cigarette on his waiting lips. Rogue had not seen the cigarette, or the hand, but she had caught the rolling movement of his shoulder and arm. Beside, the thin tendril and comforting acrid smell of smoke were dead giveaways.

A small trail of envy flashed through her suddenly—because she really wanted a smoke—causing her to abruptly turn away from the scene and start searching through the countless drawers and cabinets for something to help her light her own cancer stick. The boy may have a lighter, but it was his, and she wanted one just for her.

From the corner of her eyes she caught the boy jump suddenly as she began to make a clatter. She ignored him, though, in favor of shuffling through the odds and ends of the drawers. Guy must've thought she was a teacher. A light smirk settled itself on her face.

"Who're you?"

The smirk fell as he spoke; the boy's voice a little rough from the cigarette. Her hands paused in their search as she quickly turned her head to take him in. He was rather handsome, she decided. Nice full lips, strong nose, brown eyes. 'Like chocolate,' she mused. His skin was lightly tanned, just like hers had been back in Mississippi. Once again she envied him. She was as pale as milk, lately.

Her left eyebrow rose, silently challenging his demand, before turning back around and searching for her light. She wasn't about to make an enemy out of him though; he was a potential emergency-just-in-case-lighter-holder.

"The newbie," was all she said, before digging her hand under a little pile of folded kitchen cloths and grasping a rather familiar rectangular box.

She could have squealed she was so happy. The presence of the boy prevented her from doing so, though. Instead, she let out a happy sigh as she clutched her prize and closed the drawer. It was impossible though, to hide the skip in her step as Marie crossed the room to join the boy at the farthest booth.

He was all slouched in his seat, way too relaxed for someone who was participating in underage smoking at a school kitchen where anyone could catch him. He was clutching a shark Zippo in his right hand, and she wondered if there was a story behind it, or if he just thought it would make him look cooler. Right in front of him was a half-empty glass of orange juice; ashes floated on the surface.

"The newbie," he repeated around his cigarette, trying to copy Rogue's tone and accent as she sat down across from him, one leg under her, having already pulled a cig from her pocket and placed it between her lips.

A soft smile curled around her lips. This one wasn't shy.

She could feel the full-on heat of his gaze following the movements of her hands, causing a bout of self-consciousness to flow through her. Marie's eyes stayed glued to the little box she found as she liberated a matchstick from inside and struck it against the rough side of the carton, all with one hand.

The boy whistled, clearly impressed, and the girl smirked.

"Nice trick," his tone was appreciative. Just as she was about to raise the lighted match to her mouth, the guy made a movement with his arm, as if to stop her, and she did so just because the move was so sudden. "My turn."

And as his mouth pulled sideways into a rebellious smirk, Rogue swore that the guy's eyes turned as dark as coal.

The pointer finger lifted away from its grip on the grinning shark lighter. It moved to the left, as if saying "No," and then something strange happened.

The lit match that she was holding moved. Or rather, the flame that had already devoured half of the wooden stick went completely horizontal, its tip pointing somewhere to the right. And the boy's finger circled the air once, and the flame revolved around the charred stick once, before ending up in its initial horizontal position.

Then he pulled his hand back, and the flame pulled away from the match. Rogue let the stick fall from her numb fingers as she stared, transfixed, at the floating sphere of light. It was no bigger than a marble.

The tiny sphere seemed to twirl in place once, twice, three times before changing shape. It flattened, and then seemed to stretch thin right in the middle, the rest of the fire curving into something like sideways hearts.

The voices in her head all seemed to simultaneously draw in a surprised breath, echoing her own quieter one.

It was a butterfly. A little fire-made butterfly that had begun to flutter its wings, and then _flew _in that whimsical way all butterflies do.

It moved across the table, lazily approaching the blonde boy—its creator—planting feather light kisses over his still outstretched finger, before returning to the other side, towards Marie.

The teenage girl dazedly lifted her hand, to try and touch the tiny creation. The tip of her glove grazed a delicate wing, and immediately a thin puff of smoke appeared.

'_It singed my glove,'_ she thought in no small amount of wonder. Her musings were cut short, though, when the butterfly began to move closer to her face. She pulled back slightly, immediately aware that no matter how cute that little thing was, it was still _fire, _but it just dreamily landed on the tip of her cigarette.

The cigarette that she had forgotten was still dangling from her lips.

Rogue quickly let out the breath that she'd unknowingly been holding, and the sudden burst of wind caused the butterfly to flare slightly, become less cutesy and more flame-like, before disappearing altogether.

It took about ten full seconds for her to react. She was all dazed movements as her hand pulled the cig away from her mouth, and her arm stretched across the table, and fingers flicked ash into the orange juice. Only once her limbs had returned to her, and the smoke was settled back in between her lips, did she allow her jade green eyes to make contact with the boy's. They were like chocolate again.

And that rebellious smirk was now a full-blown arrogant smile.

"I'm Pyro."

* * *

A/N:THANK YOU TO EVERYONE OUT THERE STILL FOLLOWING THIS STORY! Do know that this is not abandoned, it's just this one's muse comes when it comes (which is like, once every lunar eclipse or something like that).

A/N: I don't buy into the whole "Wolverine going comatose for an extended period of time just because he got a little beat up by Sabretooth." Sorry. Nuh-uh.

A/N: Kudos to young Ms. Jesse Reeves for giving such a cheeky answer when the Vampire Lestat found her pretending to be a groupie.

* * *

Please review!


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